


The voice inside your head

by Combefree



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Café Musain, Fluff, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combefree/pseuds/Combefree
Summary: "It was not until he was 22 years old, however, that Combeferre met the person to his voice."





	The voice inside your head

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted on tumblr to write a fanfic on "The 'voice inside your head' is actually your soulmate's voice" and well, here we are.

Combeferre had heard the gruff voice inside his head since he was 18 years old. At first, it had shocked him slightly; the crude cussing, the blatant, and frankly rather bad innuendo jokes, the boisterous laugh. It was nothing at all like what he had suspected and nothing at all like the way he spoke himself, and he had, almost worriedly, wondered what the person on the other end thought of his voice in turn. Eventually, though, the deep vocalisation of the other man had turned familiar, an everyday feature in his head, and soon after that even reassuring and something he could not imagine living without.

He had told Enjolras about it first. They’d known each other almost all their lives, and at times, Combeferre had even imagined it was going to be Enjolras’ voice ultimately seeping into his head. The idea had been both exhilarating and almost aggravating: imagine hearing Enjolras’ political rants inside your head throughout the day, and have him passionately turn his own arguments about different human rights upside down endlessly, even after you’d left him to his own devices, abandoned in some dark corner of a café or somewhere equally fitting? One part of Combeferre had been slightly relieved when Enjolras had, on his own 18th birthday and three and half months before Combeferre’s, called him and breathlessly told him about the sarcastic voice that had appeared in his head that morning.

He was quite happy with his own steadfast and calm voice, then. It was, as everyone had told him, rather frustrating that you couldn’t really answer it, though. Some cases, when both parts had become so worked up about what the other had said or thought that they had suddenly been able to address each other, even if only for a few minutes, was known of, but it was rare. The only time you heard the other voice in your head was, after all, when the other person was feeling more strongly about something or reacting exceedingly more emotionally to something than usual. Hence, the swearing, joking and laughing for Combeferre. He had heard his voice say things like “Holy hell and the seven seas!”, “God bless this fruity cake!”, “Ouch, you dick head!” and “fucking assholey wanker!” He had also heard it exclaim “For fuck’s sake, Feuilly!” several times, marvelling over the nice (or not so nice) alliteration every time, and feeling both curious and cautious about who this “Feuilly” was.

It was not until he was 22 years old, however, that Combeferre met the person to his voice.

\- - -

It did not take long after he had heard it for the first time until Bahorel started to call it “his voice”. It was just so damn easy, wasn’t it, with all its perfectly phrased exclamations of joy or frustration or anxiety or whatever it might be. It was like the voice needed to be cared for, to be someone’s. He would go for days waiting for it to express itself somehow, expecting a nicely articulated what-could-almost-be-a-curse or an excited shout to someone he did not know (often an “Enjolras” and sometimes a “Joly”). And it would almost feel like Christmas, because his voice would usually go long stretches of time without making itself known. But every time it did, whatever it would say, it brought a wide grin to Bahorel’s face, and everyone around him would say “ey, guys, Bahorel’s got his voice-smirk on again”.

In the beginning, Bahorel had, to be honest, actually worried a bit about the age of the man of his voice. A soulmate could be younger or older than yourself, so one person could start hearing another’s voice years before. Bahorel’s voice had been kinda squeaky the first year he’d been hearing it, almost like it hadn’t broken completely yet, and as a weight-lifting obsessed and burly 18-year-old, Bahorel had been somewhat mum on the details of the voice in his head when others had asked him about it. In hindsight, the squeakiness of it had probably played some part in the forming of the phrase “his voice”, though. He had felt, and still did, some kind of protectiveness over it. Then, when he was 20 and met Feuilly, and the other man had told Bahorel that he wasn’t even completely sure whether the person behind the voice in his head was a boy or a girl or any other gender, Bahorel had stopped caring. And gradually, his voice had turned slightly deeper and steadier overall.

\- - -

“Jehan is bringing two of their friends”, Enjolras says when he comes over to where Combeferre is sitting at one of the tables in the Musain. He dumps his heavy bag on a chair and sits down beside Combeferre. “They said both seemed kind of curious but also slightly sceptical, but that their “endless charms” convinced them to come by and at least see what we do here.”

He makes quotation marks in the air around the words so obviously Jehan’s.

“That’s nice”, Combeferre mumbles over his notebook, in which he is writing about the latest reports of sexual harassment on campus. “I’d like Cosette or Musichetta to look this over before we take any action, Enjolras.”

“Yes.”

Combeferre finishes the sentence, puts down a full stop, and then raises his eyes to his friend. “This is after all about their and other women’s experiences and stories. It’s not only their fight, but it is their lives.”

“Absolutely.” Enjolras nods vigorously while checking his phone. “Bossuet says he’ll be late, but otherwise people should start arriving soon. Oh, and apparently”, he looks up at Combeferre for a short second, something akin to jealousy, or perhaps fervour, glinting in his eyes, “one of them is Jehan’s SM.”

It takes a millisecond for Combeferre’s mind to reset, from Bossuet being late, back to Jehan and the two friends they are bringing with them. When it has, his eyes widen and a small smile starts spreading across his face.

“Really?!”

\- - -

_Really?!_

“Oh!”

Bahorel stops suddenly in his tracks, making Feuilly and Jehan walk along for a few steps before even realising and then slowing down.

“Your voice shows up at the most unexpected times!” Feuilly says, understanding the look on Bahorel’s face without having to ask.

“Who are you to decide what is an ‘unexpected time’?!” Jehan asks Feuilly teasingly, taking no notice of Bahorel’s exclamation.

He liked them. They were a nice, enthusiastic, positive, swirling influence on Feuilly, and Bahorel had absolutely no qualms with them being the new and exciting and romantic person in his best friend’s life. Christ knew Bahorel himself had never been able to bring the last of those things to Feuilly’s table, much less wanting to! But Jehan was more than willing. Feuilly had been slightly nervous about meeting them, knowing he was attracted to both men and women but never having had any experience with non-binary partners, and fearing that his inexperience and lack in knowledge would lead to awkward situations, unintentional offences or hurt feelings. It was so very much like Feuilly; to take good care to step carefully, never on anyone’s toes and never too quickly, Bahorel muses. Jehan had been his perfect match; a loose and whirling soul, who never thought too long before they acted and didn’t mind people asking questions.

Feuilly gets that delightedly scheming look in his brown eyes when Jehan nudges his side with long, slender fingers and is quick to grab hold of Jehan’s wrist, much to the latter’s amusement. Bahorel thinks it’s best to stop this nonsense before it gets out of hand.

“He’s pleased about something”, he says meaningfully, making it obvious he’s steering the conversation back to his voice, and forces himself in between the two others, laying an arm over each’s shoulders.

“Did you get what of?” Feuilly asks, and Bahorel raises an eyebrow at him.

“What do you think?!”

\- - -

“Do you know…?” Combeferre wonders, slightly tentatively, and leaving it up to Enjolras to guess what he is asking. The blond, stern-looking man does not need any further clues.

“Romantic. And, I assume from the way Jehan spoke about him, sexual.”

There was one thing about the already rather inconvenient phenomenon of soulmates that was always left to figure out after you’d met them, and so, the usual follow up-question to finding out someone had met theirs, at least among friends, was something along the lines of “what kind”. Combeferre had no real preference to or wish for his voice to turn out to be a romantic, sexual or platonic soulmate, or two or all three of them in any kind of combination. Perhaps it was likely that it’d be romantic or sexual, since he already had Enjolras (and Courfeyrac, and Joly) on the platonic side, but he preferred not to speculate, so not to be disappointed.

Enjolras looks smug, some of the fervour still gleaming in his eyes, but is interrupted in keeping up the conversation about soulmates when his phone beeps. He looks at it, and his eyebrows descend up under his blond mane.

“Courfeyrac asks if he should get us anything on the way?”

“Does he mean –”

“Sweets, yes. Or cookies. Or cakes. The usual.”

Combeferre sniggers. “No thanks.”

“He should get a cake for Jehan, or something”, Enjolras mumbles and starts tapping on his phone while standing up. When he’s done, he looks down at Combeferre. “Anything to drink, then?”

“Just a coffee would be nice, thank you.”

Enjolras nods and goes over to the bar counter, and Combeferre looks down at his notes again.

\- - -

They soon turn a corner, and then Jehan is pointing at a café on the other side of the street, a wide and genuine smile on their face. An old plate hangs over the door, and the beige letters forming the word “Musain” are flaking off the green background. Bahorel tries to pronounce the word in his head, but soon gives up and follows the two others across the street.

“Be nice!” Jehan demands, giving them both a stern look, lingering a while on Bahorel, and then puts a hand on the door handle and enters the café first.

“Why are you looking at me for!?” Bahorel demands innocently, making Feuilly snort loudly behind him, which lures a not so innocent laugh out of Bahorel.

“The life of the party has arrived!” Jehan exclaims ahead of him, drawing the attention of more or less everyone inside. A somewhat nervous-looking young man with jet-black hair and a delicately framed face, half turned away from them just a few steps away, almost jumps into the air, apparently not having heard them entering, before putting a hand to his chest and turning fully toward them.

“Dear god, Jehan, can you stop doing that!?” While the shock sinks away, though, a pleasant smile spreads across his face instead. “Hi!”

Before Jehan has time to answer, another man calls from the bar counter across the room: “You’re almost the last ones!”

His hair is almost as white as pearls, and when he comes toward them with cups of something steaming in each hand it is with a proud posture and a fierce look in his eyes. The look is also kind, however. “I’d shake your hands if it weren’t for these.”

“This is Enjolras”, Jehan says excitedly to Bahorel and Feuilly, “and Joly. Enjolras, Joly, this is Feuilly and Bahorel.”

Enjolras lifts his chin at them as a greeting instead, before walking past them towards a few of the tables in the seating area, while Feuilly is shaking Joly’s hand. Both men’s names sound somehow familiar to Bahorel, but before he can place them, he is distracted when he follows Enjolras’ way through the room and catches sight of a third young man just a few tables away, whom Enjolras is steering himself toward. He seems to have just risen from his seat, as if he was going to come over and say hello too. But he is standing still, staring at Bahorel, and when their eyes meet, Bahorel instantly understands why.

He is tall and lean, clad in straight, impeccable trousers and a thin and ironed blue shirt, both sleeves rolled up so that his colourful tattoos on his right arm, of everything from a compass to a butterfly, are partly visible. His glasses seem to have sunk down a bit on his nose in the heat, and now he pushes them up again, eyes narrowing behind them, not suspiciously or doubtingly, but incredulously – and across Bahorel’s face, a wide grin starts to spread slowly.

\- - -

He has dark tattoos running down his muscled arms, both arms, but in fewer colours than Combeferre’s own. He can’t tell from where he stands exactly what they are all of, but Combeferre believes he can see a ship moving up the left upper arm, toward a broad shoulder, and a tiger on the right one. He’s just wearing a simple military green tank top, and the dark brown hair is tied up in a bun on the back of his head. Their eyes meet across the room, and Combeferre can tell straight away, from the other man’s smile – Bahorel’s smile! – that this is it. He’s not sure how he knows, but when he holds the man’s gaze it’s just obvious to him, that this man was going to be the closest person on earth to Combeferre from now on.

Before any of them has time to move, however, the door into the Musain opens behind Bahorel again, and Courfeyrac storms in.

“I’m here!” he proclaims, before realising that at least two people who he does not recognise are standing right in front of him. “Oh! Hello there!”

“And this is Courfeyrac”, Jehan says, not having noticed the exchange between Bahorel and Combeferre yet, and simply gestures at Courfeyrac for the two newcomers’ benefit. “This is Feuilly and Bahorel, Courf.”

Following Bahorel’s gaze, though, and realising their new friend is nowhere near glancing at Courfeyrac even for a quick second, but instead being rooted to the spot with his brown, warm eyes fixed at Combeferre, Jehan’s face slowly lights up. Halfway on his way to Combeferre, steaming cups still in his hands, Enjolras has also stopped and he, in turn, follows Combeferre’s gaze to Bahorel.

“Hang on…” he says, eyes narrowing just like his best friend’s have done moments before.

“Do you guys know each other?” Courfeyrac asks, rather foolishly. Jehan will tease him for the stupid question later. Because…

“Of course they do! Right, Combeferre?”

”Combeferre”, Bahorel says, trying the name out loud.

”Bahorel”, Combeferre answers.

”Man, that’s some weird shit!”

A chuckle, somewhat repressed due to all the adrenaline rushing through his body, escapes Combeferre’s mouth. “What is?”

“Hearing your voice outside my head!”

Combeferre must look like a completely delighted idiot, because Bahorel starts laughing, and before Combeferre knows what he’s doing, he practically flies across the room, pushing chairs aside carelessly on his way, forgetting everything graceful and collected, and then crashes into Bahorel, not even close to toppling the other man over, and his arms are around Bahorel, and Bahorel’s arms are around him, and the other man’s laugh, that deep and booming and reassuring laugh, it’s right there in Combeferre’s ears, rustling around his head and ruffling his hair, and Combeferre smiles, wide and unreserved, and it makes Courfeyrac’s eyes twinkle and one of Enjolras’s eyebrows to ascend amusingly and Joly to let out an excited “ooh”, and Combeferre just cannot be bothered by it, for once he cannot. Because Bahorel is there now, right beside him, and Combeferre can not only sense the other man’s elatedness in his head, but also see it on his face, and _it is amazing_.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any language errors/mistake, I'm not a native English-speaker. Feel free to correct me!  
> I hope you liked this little thing! I sure had fun writing it. I would be very happy if you left me a comment with your thoughts! <3  
> (Or, simply come and say hello on tumblr; atcafemusain.tumblr.com)


End file.
